Children of the Knight by Michael J. Bowler (book recommendations based on other books txt) 📖

The new guys whooped and hollered with excitement, but Arthur stared them back into silence. When all had settled down, he said, “For those who are new to us, Reyna be the chief instructor for archery, and Lance for swordsmanship.” He indicated Lance, who stood and stepped to the king’s side, a trifle nervously. Those gang guys looked mean as hell!

Jaime—the other Latino dude from the previous night—snorted, and Esteban laughed. “Him?” he said derisively. “He don’t look big enough to do much damage.” The homies laughed.

Lance fought back a blush of embarrassment as Arthur took a step closer. “When all of thee are knighted, Lance shalt be designated First Knight, Esteban. This means he shall command in my stead. Does that pose a problem for thee?”

Esteban shrugged, exchanging an amused smirk with Jaime. “I don’ know, man. He did okay last night, but he had all you for backup. To me, he looks kind a girly to be in charge.”

Darnell and the other gangsters laughed even louder, but none of Arthur’s original group joined them.

Arthur glanced over at Lance, waiting for him to act.

Fighting down his panic—that kid was buff as hell, after all—Lance unsheathed his sword and held it tightly. “Grab any sword you like and we’ll see if I fight ‘girly’.”

Now the gangsters erupted with excitement. Fighting was clearly what they knew and loved. Jaime slapped Esteban on the back. “Show ’im what ya got, dawg!”

Esteban eyed Lance appraisingly. “You got it,” he said and got to his feet, sauntered over to the weapons rack, and casually perused the armaments.

There was silence as he hefted several large swords, testing their weight and the feel of each hilt in his grip. Everyone watched with breathless anticipation. Lance glanced nervously at Reyna, and she blew him a kiss, which made him smile.

Esteban turned and saw the gesture, and it clearly annoyed him. Reyna turned to look his way and tossed him a mocking smirk. That irritated Esteban even more. He snatched a heavy, sturdy, two-handed broadsword, gripped it tautly, the muscles of his thick forearms rippling with power, and stepped to the center of the crowd.

Everyone pressed back as far as they could, leaving a center circle for the two combatants. Lance stepped carefully down from the platform to face off against the much stronger and intimidating Esteban.

“Sure you don’t want any armor for protection?” Lance asked sincerely, noting the older boy’s exposed arms.

Esteban bristled with indignation. “I got more armor in these muscles, kid, than you could ever wear! Let’s go at it.”

The two boys circled one another like cats, each sizing up the other’s strengths and weaknesses, each looking for an opening to strike. Esteban swung first, and hard, hoping to use his sheer might to knock the sword out of Lance’s grip, or drive the smaller boy to the ground. But Lance easily danced to one side. The weight of Esteban’s sword threw him forward. He stumbled and nearly lost his balance.

Cursing, he recovered his footing and turned just as Lance swung downward with his weapon. Esteban raised his sword in time to block the blow, but the impact of iron against iron sent thrumming vibrations from his hands all the way up his arms.

He stumbled back and then used all his strength to push against Lance, causing the smaller boy to fall back several feet. Lance almost lost his footing, but weeks of training with Arthur paid off. Esteban took a wild swing at Lance. Lance easily ducked, and the blade sailed harmlessly over his head. Seizing the advantage, Lance pushed forward and rammed his shoulder into Esteban’s rock-hard chest, causing the bigger boy to stagger backward, pinwheeling with his arms, and almost losing his grip on the enormous sword.

Each time Lance scored a victory, the original group cheered. Each time Esteban gained the advantage, the gangsters whooped. Lance knew full well that Esteban, or any of these kids, wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if the mood hit them. The outcome of this one-on-one fight might make or break the entire crusade, he realized. He had to win!

Esteban screamed and charged, swinging downward as hard as he could with his sword. This time Lance did not dance away, but deftly swung his sword up and around to easily deflect the powerful blow. Esteban’s blade struck the concrete floor, missing Lance completely.

By now, Lance was sweating, but not as much as Esteban, he was pleased to note. Despite wearing his gold circlet, sweaty hair dangled before his face, drifting in and out of his field of vision. He ignored it.

He and Esteban circled one another again, but neither made a move.

Then Esteban swung, and Lance easily parried. Esteban swung again, harder this time. And again Lance parried, deflecting the blade harmlessly. Again and again Esteban swung his sword hard, obviously thinking that sheer might would win the day. But what Lance lacked in physical size, he more than made up in technique, and calmly parried Esteban’s every thrust, every swing, and every lunge.

Dripping with sweat, his tank top soaked through, Esteban finally lost his cool. Eyes bulging, mouth twisted with rage, he ran straight at Lance, blade pointing out.

Lance ducked under the blade and swung the flat of his own sword against Esteban’s shin, causing the bigger boy to cry out in pain, stumble, and crash hard to the concrete. He lost his slippery grip, and the broadsword clattered along the ground to land at Reyna’s feet. Exhausted as he was, his shin throbbing with pain, Esteban rolled over to regain his feet—and found the point of Lance’s sword at his throat.

Lance breathed heavily, but Esteban panted like a dog after a two-mile run. The two boys gazed intently at one another. Just as with Reyna, Lance knew this to be the key moment for him. His gaze never wavered.

Finally, after several tense, silent seconds, Esteban broke eye contact and looked away. “You win,” he mumbled in humiliation.

Lance pulled back his sword. “Still think I’m girly?”

Esteban shook his head, spraying droplets of sweat all over the ground.

Lance turned and fixed a challenging gaze upon the other gang members. “Anybody else wanna take me on?”

One by one, they shook their heads and looked away.

Lance swept his fiery green eyes over the assemblage and settled on the panting Esteban. “Got a problem with me being First Knight?”

Esteban turned his gaze in amazement up at the smaller boy. “Anybody who fights like you—hell, no!”

Lance grinned and extended a hand. Esteban flicked his gaze over to Jaime and the other homeboys. They nodded with understanding, so he turned back to Lance and stuck out his hand.

Lance pulled him to his feet, and Esteban limped to a chair to massage his bruised shin.

Darnell shook his head in amazement. “You gonna teach us all to fight like that?”

Lance nodded. “Starting right now.”

And so it came to pass that Lance earned the respect of the gang members in the only true way they understood, through strength and force.

Arthur clapped Lance solidly on the shoulder and smiled in approval. No words were needed. Mark and Jack grinned at him, and even Reyna flashed him a thumbs-up sign, which made him lower his eyes and grin foolishly.

For the remainder of that afternoon, Arthur and Lance and those with sword-fighting experience, coached the gangsters who sought to learn the use of these weapons, while Reyna and Lavern worked with the archers. As usual, Enrique and Luis tried to outshoot each other for Reyna’s benefit.

Lance noticed her eyes drifting toward the swordsmen whenever Esteban wielded a weapon. Esteban still limped after his earlier battle, but he was strong and quick, and his powerful muscles swelled whenever he swung at a dummy target. Lance could tell Reyna liked what she saw.

Finally, after nightfall, the gang members drifted back to their ’hoods, and she bade them good night. “It’s late, Reyna,” Enrique implored, turning on the charm. “You should stay here tonight. We’ll stay too.”

She laughed. “Yeah, and have to sleep with both eyes open? Hell no! ’Night, Arthur,” she called as she disappeared down the tunnel with a wave of her bow and a fling of her ponytail.

Disappointed, Enrique and Luis followed. Sometimes they stayed overnight, but usually went back home so their moms wouldn’t worry.

Esteban smiled at the look of disappointment on their faces as he and his homies returned their swords to the armory and prepared to leave.

After telling Arthur they would return tomorrow, he paused to exchange a look of deep respect with Lance. They gazed at one another a long moment.

“Carnal,” Esteban said with a nod, and Lance broke into a smile. They were equals now. Esteban tossed him a crooked grin before turning with his entourage to leave.

Suddenly, it was just the usual homeless kids who always stayed, and Lance felt an immense sense of relief. Peace surrounded him at this late hour when everyone had gone down and Arthur bade him good night. But peace was always tenuous at best. He’d done his job, the gangsters had accepted him, but did that make him worthy? No, he knew. His past, and that feeling of being forever dirty, would always be in the way.

Despite the silence, despite the ever-present, almost soothing drip of water, peace skittered around and away from him. As always, Chris snuggled up to him, but Lance squirmed and couldn’t get comfortable. Fleeting images, memories, fears, and doubts kept intruding.

Finally, he extricated himself from the small boy’s embrace, slipped on his baggy tunic and boots, and padded softly out of the sleeping area into The Hub. A few battery-powered lanterns still burned through the night, turning the enormous chamber into a shadow-realm.

As he entered the shadowy Hub, he found he wasn’t alone. Mark rested against a wall gazing absently at Arthur’s silent, empty throne. Lance’s heart rate jumped, and he paused, considered turning back, but Mark noticed him, and Lance couldn’t bring himself to be rude anymore. So he approached and tentatively sat beside the shaggy-haired blond, supporting his back against the concrete wall.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asked, hoping the nervousness in his voice wasn’t too obvious.

Mark shook his head, untamed bangs flopping against his forehead. Then he eyed Lance with a lopsided grin that enlightened his soft features. “You sure kicked gangbanger ass today, Lance.”

“I don’t really like fighting much, you know, but with guys like that, I guess it’s all they understand.”

Mark nodded, bangs dropping in front of his eyes. “Yep, a good old fashioned ass whupping. Remind me not to get you mad.”

Lance laughed, wrapping his arms around his upraised knees. “No worries. I’m a skater. I only whup ass when I got to.”

Mark chuckled at that, and they sat a few moments in tenuous silence. The drip of water, an almost living presence within these dank, damp tunnels, was the only sound except their own breathing.

Lance looked at the other boy. “You still, like, craving the heroin?”

Mark nodded, flipping the blond mop off his forehead. “Sometimes, but not right now. When I do, I come out here and stare at the throne, and I think of Arthur, what he done for me, an’ I shake it loose. No more a that junk for me.”

Lance nodded. Arthur had that effect on him too. The two boys sat in silence.

Mark turned his haunted blue eyes on Lance. “What was it like, Lance?”

“What was what like?”

“Spending time with Arthur, you know, just the two of you?” Lance looked puzzled a moment, and Mark smiled. “I mean, you had him all to yourself, right, ’fore the rest of us kids came along?”

Now